


A Time For Us

by KylaraIngress



Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, M/M, POV First Person, Swiss Cheese Memory, mid-leap, pre-Leap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 05:28:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2720459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KylaraIngress/pseuds/KylaraIngress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a rough leap for Al, he is forced to remember his past with Sam – and is reminded by an unlikely source as to why Sam has forgotten it. (missing scene/prequel/sequel to "It's a Wonderful Leap")</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Previously published in _Quantum Scenes 4: Celebration_ zine, and written June 2001. Publishing as part of Throwback Thursdays.
> 
> Was watching the "It's a Wonderful Leap" episode and playing fanboy geek, joking about some of the inherent inconsistencies of the storyline. Came up with this story to 'explain' them. And for those of you who care, my SO gave me the sandwich 'recipe', so it does exist apparently.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al does NOT like Angelita. Not one bit.

God, some of Sam's leaps can really get under my skin. I mean, it was bad enough it felt like he was doin' the whole thing without me, but added to it was that . . . that . . . that LOONY who was claimin' to be an angel, insulting me at every turn (like she had a whole lot of room to talk). This had to be the worst leap he'd done in a long time.

You see, I was never comfortable when people other than Sam could see me. The whole thing that he and only he could see me; well, that made me feel kinda special. I mean, it had been almost four years since Sam first leapt, and while his memory had never recalled much about us and our relationship, just the fact that we had this distinctive link made it almost bearable. While it never gave us back our special bond we'd had as lovers, it was a different bond that had become just as special to me.

But, not like she could see me wasn't bad enough, she was claimin' to be a guardian angel. AND, on top of all THAT, Sam and her were BONDING! Angelita Carmen Guadalupe Cecilia Jiminez – what a mouthful!

All that business about her bein' a guardian angel because in life she had a big ego, how she was sent to do this to learn how to help others, that was eerily close to the reasons I'd told myself as to why Sam was stuck leaping around. I mean, as much as I loved the man, he did have a pretty big ego when it came to his brains; and while I wouldn't say he didn't think of others, it wasn't exactly in the top ten things he thought of regularly.

"What happens after you help them?" Sam was askin', bonding even further.

"I move onto my next assignment."

"I know that feeling," he said with a sigh, and I gave an internal sigh as well. Each time he leaped, we hoped it would be all the way back. And each time, it was just into another host, another life, another leap.

"In this time, no one will remember I was ever here," she continued, and I couldn't help but realize that, in a way, Sam's activities were also hidden – but by the aura effect.

"I don't know, Al," he said, turning to me. "I mean, it could be possible."

I couldn't believe this! I felt the tables were turned, as it was usually MY place to be arguing with HIM that things outside of science were possible, and so in my irritation of the day, I just snapped, "Hey, you wanna talk to me, I'll meet you outside . . . alone." I was tired, tired of him leaping, tired of him never remembering, but most of all, I was tired of that silly seraph, makin' me out to be the bad guy, takin' MY time away from Sam.

He came out of the cab to 'confront' me, ready to argue all about this whole thing, and delivered what he considered the coup de grace (what he ALWAYS used when arguing odd events, but he never let me get away with it when I tried using it):

"Holograms didn't exist until 20 years ago."

I started to deliver my usual rebuttal, when we heard it.

 **"There's a time for us,  
** **a time and place for us,  
** **hold my hand, and we're halfway there." (1)**

I turned, mouth dropped open, as I heard the song – our song.

"Sounds like an angel to me," he said. I turned and looked at him, and did a double take as I thought I saw a glimmer of recognition in his eyes, and as Angelita continued, I felt myself hoping, praying, and remembering.

 **"Hold my hand and we're halfway there,  
** **Hold my hand and I'll take you there,  
** **Somehow, someday, somewhere." (1)**

And the world went blank as I flashed back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) "Somewhere", from _West Side Story_. Lyrics by Stephen Sondheim. Copyright 1961.


	2. Drunken Discussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, that's how we had ended up pished (that's where you're so drunk you have trouble talking), walking the streets of D.C. (where we'd set up the initial meetings for PQL), discussing sex.

It was 1986 – the StarBright project was behind us, and Sam & I were boldly blazing a trail into what would eventually become Project Quantum Leap. Only a few years had passed since that disastrous 'wedding that never was', a.k.a. Donna Elesee leaving Sam at the altar, and I was finally ending my marriage to my fifth – Maxine. Our mutual tragedies had only made our friendship stronger as he had helped me finally admit to having a drinking problem, and while I wasn't completely dry, I was no longer one drink away from death like I had been. And I had done my part for him when he finally had to go back and sell the farm, admitting to me all the guilt he had about his father's death, his brother's death, and the tragedy he considered his family.

I'd decided it was a time for a celebration, if for no other reason than to celebrate the fact that we could, and for the first time since declaring my addiction to alcohol, Sam gave me permission to go overboard (maybe since he wanted an excuse himself).

So, that's how we had ended up pished (that's where you're so drunk you have trouble talking), walking the streets of D.C. (where we'd set up the initial meetings for PQL), discussing sex.

Jeez, Sam MUST'VE been drunk, to be tellin' me some of those stories. Thankfully, I was used to this kind of alcohol intake (although it had been a while), and so I was a little bit more on the ball than him. But he was givin' me some grade-A porn material, tellin' me things that made me think twice about my nickname for him. He was definitely not the Prudent Prince if even half the tales were true.

"And so that's how those little hairs turned green," he finished up his latest tale, his words slurred in a way to make Betty Ford proud.

"Sheesh, Sam," I said, shaking my head. "I would've never expected something like that from you."

"What about you?" he asked, turning toward me, weaving. By this time, we were on a sidewalk heading toward the apartment where I was residing, and so when he lost his balance, he was able to fall back ungracefully on a flight of stairs.

I lowered my hand to him, offering to help him up, but he just stayed on the step, looking at his shoes. I then realized he was trying to keep his composure and that he just needed a breath of fresh air.

"What about me?" I asked, sitting beside him.

"There's gotta be something YOU can tell me," he said, his words punctuated by breaths. "Sex-wise, that is. I mean, after all those stories you've told me . . . ."

"Exactly, Sam," I said with a smile. "I've TOLD you all my sleazy tales."

"So there isn't one you've kept from me?" he asked, turning his head slightly so as to look at my eyes. "One thing you felt that you couldn't even tell ME?"

He was treading into dangerous territory (no way could I tell him THAT story), and I wasn't sure how much of this night he'd remember in the morning. So, I turned my head away and did the only thing I could – I bluffed. "Nope," I said, hoping he'd just drop it.

"'Kay," he said, and started to stand up. A little woozy still, he grabbed onto the rail, and then looked down at me, "If you don't want to tell me, I understand." Damn – even when he was drunk, he could tell when I was lyin' to him. Shoulda figured – hadn't been able to lie to him since the Donna incident. "Let's finish gettin' to your place."

And so the rest of the walk back to my apartment was quiet, as I digested the facts in front of me. How would Sam react if I told him about that time during Annapolis, when a weekend leave led me not to a woman for a bed partner, but a man instead? After the tales he told me, could I really be worried as to how he'd react? It hadn't happened since (unless you count the weird dreams I had been gettin' about Sam, but that's all they were – dreams), and I was convinced it was just an experiment in life during my youth.

I opened my door and let Sam stumble through, hitting the back of my couch with the power of a jet plane (that is, if the jet plane was running on Wild Turkey and Smirnoff Vodka). He staggered to the front of the couch and consented to sprawl across it. I was busy setting the locks, and then I turned on the overhead lamp (thankfully on a dimmer, usually used for the ladies, and so I was able to keep it low – knowing we couldn't handle anything TOO bright).

"You want some coffee, kid?" I asked the back that was facing me. An unintelligible 'mmmff' with a slight nod of his head led me to believe in a positive response, and so I headed into the kitchen.

My apartment was set up in such a way to where the kitchenette (it was too small for me to seriously consider it a regular kitchen) was off the living room and had a 'window' between the two rooms. So, since there was plenty of light from the living room lamp and the moonlight filtering through the windows to the outside, I was able to see my way without turning on any other lights. I started the coffee and opened the fridge to see what, if anything, was edible.

"You hungry?" I yelled, looking through the window. Another 'ngrhfth' emanated from the form on the couch with another shaky nod, and I had to give a smile as I returned back to my nearly empty refrigerator. But as I saw the bacon in the fridge and the banana on the counter, I remembered a recipe of the type you only make when you're drunk, and while you don't have to be drunk to enjoy it, it helps. I went over to my pantry and gave a manic giggle as the rest of the ingredients showed themselves.


	3. The Sandwich

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What's this?" Sam asked me ten minutes later as I handed him a sandwich.

"What's this?" Sam asked me ten minutes later as I handed him a sandwich. He had managed to move to a sitting position, and it looked like the stages of alcohol-stupor were firmly trotting along.

"Just eat it, Sam," I said, sitting down with my own sandwich. "It's something Chip made me one night after a particularly harsh fight with Lisa."

He looked hedgy at me and at the sandwich, and I could tell he was doubtful. "Uh-huh?" he asked.

I just took a bite, sinking back into the couch, and sighed blissfully. "Just try it, Sam," I said after I let the wonder of the sandwich overflow me. 

Still giving me an untrusting look, he took a hesitant bite, the crunch of the bread adding to the tension. I could tell his mouth was trying to deal with the slimy ooze that flowed through his throat. 

I remembered when Chip made it for me (who had it made for him – I briefly wondered if this sandwich had ever actually been invented, or if it had just been passed down from person to person since the dawn of time), and could see the levels of comprehension cross his face.

First is a sort-of 'urk' reaction, as you realize what exactly you're eating. That's quickly followed by a dull pleasure, the type you get when you're experiencing a sexually-induced spanking – you know you shouldn't like it, but you do. Finally, a sort of acceptance sits in, and that's when you voice the inevitable question: 

"What the hell am I eating?" Sam gasped as he took another bite.

"Like all good things, kid, it doesn't have a decent name," I said. "It's bacon, peanut butter, and bananas on grilled rye."

He stopped in mid-bite, and mumbled around his food, "You're kidding, right?"

"Don't knock it," I said, taking another bite. "Despite all facts, it's good."

He swallowed his food thoughtfully. "You're right," he concluded, and proceeded to finish off the sandwich without further argument.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted a sandwich reminiscent of the triple fried egg chili chutney sandwich from _Red Dwarf_. I asked my SO, and they gave me their variation.


	4. Experiments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Have you ever had a homosexual experience?"

"Say, Al," Sam asked me after our food was made and coffee was being consumed and we were still slightly drunk, "I got a question for you."

"Uh-huh?" I asked, finally getting to a sleepy stage of the night.

"Have you ever had a homosexual experience?"

Let me tell you, that sobered me up a hell of a lot quicker than the food OR the coffee. Thankfully, I hadn't been taking a bite OR a drink, otherwise I have a feeling I would've had the best spit-take ever. "Excuse me?" I asked, giving him a look. Yep, he was serious.

"Well, I was thinking," he said – bad news there. "About our conversation earlier," he continued – damn photographic memory. "And I realized that if you had HAD a homosexual experience, you might not be comfortable telling me about it," he finished. You know, with his IQ, I sometimes wonder if he actually CAN read my mind.

"C'mon, Sammy," I pleaded, not wanting to do this. He was much more sober now than he was earlier, and if he had any memory of the evening, it would be more likely this part of it.

"You know you can tell me anything," he continued, and laid his hand on my knee. "It's not as uncommon as you think," he said, and started rubbing my upper thigh. "After all, I always like to experiment," and his hand rubbed something that was NOT my thigh.

"SAM!" I shouted, standing quickly in my confusion of the evening, inadvertently knocking over the pot of coffee that was on the table. "Oh, shit," I swore as the coffee started running toward the carpet.

"Sorry," came the apology from my friend, and as I finally turned to him, I saw a look of shame flit across his face. "God, Al, I'm sorry," and he stood up and ran into the kitchen.

A few seconds were spent mopping up the coffee, and Sam came back in, holding the roll of paper towels he had found.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, handing over the roll.

"Ah, kid," I said, feeling guilty, "don't feel sorry. I was the one that knocked it over."

"No," he said, sitting back down and looking away. "About what I said . . . what I did."

Oh, that. I tossed the wad of paper towels away and decided the mess was cleaned up enough for now. "Uh, don't worry about it, kid," I stumbled out, moving his head so he was looking at me. "I was . . . I was just surprised."

"That I wanted to experiment?"

I looked deep into his hazel eyes, and realized that only the truth would be said tonight. "That you wanted to experiment with me," I admitted.

He leaned in, giving my lips a brief brush. After a second, he broke away and whispered, "Who else would I want to experiment with?" and proceeded to kiss me again.

And like the dreams I'd been havin', I found myself responding to it quite enthusiastically, pushing him down on the couch. A few moments of intense tonsil hockey were consumed before we broke away, this time to catch our breath.

"Wow!" Sam panted out. "You sure know how to kiss."

"Wait till you see what else I can do," I leered at him, straggling to take my shirt off. His eyes widened a bit at my obvious interest, then he, too, started undressing.

A few more seconds of stripping ensued, and we both had to stand in order to get to our pants (and shoes), and then I was able to bring my lips back to his, and gave a pleasured groan as my chest hit his, no clothes to impede the sensations.

I squeaked out in surprise, though, as his hand went immediately to my crotch. I broke away, and laughed, "Gee, kid, you in a hurry?"

"Jus' eager," he said, his words slurring in either his excitement or his drunkenness, I wasn't too sure. "It's been a while."

"What, since you've had sex?" I shoulda figured the kid probably didn't have sex since Donna.

"No," he shyly said. "Since I've done it with a guy."

I would've questioned the statement (after all, he said he was wantin' to experiment, which implied that he hadn't done this before), but he had shimmered down to his knees, and any thoughts I had went promptly out of my head as he started giving me a blowjob like I had never had.

Whoa, mama! I could barely breathe with what he was doin' with his tongue . . . and his mouth . . . Oh, my sweet Jesus! I could feel his tongue making languid circles around my cock, and his teeth were just barely scraping my skin, giving the sensation of pained pleasure I hadn't felt . . . well, since Annapolis, really. No matter how hard I tried 'training' all my wives and girlfriends since then, I hadn't had a blowjob this good since Bill.

"Oh, Christ, kid," I finally was able to strangle out, "I'm . . . I'm . . . ."

And THEN he had the audacity to STOP!

"God damn, kid!" I had to shout. "Why'd you stop? I was gettin' ready to . . . ."

"I know," he interrupted, and he looked at me with a combination of desire and humor. "That's why I stopped."

"What, are you a cock tease or somethin'?" I couldn't help but joke.

"No," he said and slowly stood up. Grabbing my hand, he continued, "I just want something more." He gave me a smile that nearly made me faint, then said, "If you'll show me your bedroom, and hopefully something we can use for lube, I've got better plans for that sweet beauty of yours."

Sheesh – the kid HAD to be drunk.

I didn't let that stop me, though, as I showed him my bedroom, stopping at the bathroom first.

"Uh, let's see," I said, rummaging around my medicine cabinet. "We've got toothpaste . . . ."

"I don't think so," he said, and I could see his smile in the side I hadn't opened.

"Uh, hand soap . . . ."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Ben Gay?"

"I think the point is to keep it hard, not relaxed," he said with a laugh.

"Ah . . . how about Vaseline?"

"That'll work," he said, and before I had a chance, he reached over and grabbed the tube. As his hand passed back over my shoulder, he grabbed it and turned me around, giving me a brutal but passionate kiss. "C'mon, Al," he said. "I've been wanting this for a long time."

Tonight was definitely the night for learning things about the kid.

Before I knew it, we were back at my bedroom, and he was laying down on his back, putting the tube of Vaseline on my nightstand. He reached for me, but I quickly stopped him.

"You trying to give me payback?" he asked me, a halfway pained expression crossing his face. "Or have you changed your mind?"

"Nah," I said. "Neither, really. I just need to put on something," and I held up the condom I also had grabbed from the bathroom.

"Fuckin' A," he said, and I caught myself yet again wondering how much I really DID know about the man I was about to become more than intimate with. He grabbed the packet from me, tore it open (with his TEETH!), and put it on me in the most arousing way. As soon as the Trojan was on, he squirted a bit of the jelly on his hand and started lathering me up. He reached down and put some on himself (and I thought it was erotic how he prepared ME), then gave me a look.

"Fuck me, lover," he said quietly, sensually, and gave a little growl as I wasn't quick enough for him, then grabbed my ass and brought me to him.

"Whoa, kid!" I said before things got too far. "I don't want to hurt ya!"

"C'mon, baby, make it hurt so good, **(2)** " he sang to me.

I didn't question it. Maybe he liked it rough. Maybe he enjoyed being a bottom. Maybe he was drunk enough to where he didn't realize what he was sayin'. Whatever the reasons, he obviously wanted me to be a little aggressive with him, and so I reached down and positioned myself with no preparation (Bill had liked being a bottom, and he had taught me all about the intricacies of the 'one-two-three-push' preparation technique, as he liked to call it). I pushed in a little bit, and OH, SWEET MOTHER, MARY OF GOD! His ass was so tight it was almost painful, and I had to stop for a second to catch my breath.

"What the hell are you stopping for?!?" came the cry from my bedmate, and I could see his eyes were tightly clenched against what had to be the pain. "Get it in, quick!"

I realized he felt that would make the hurt go away faster, and so I quickly pulled back out and thrust in hard.

"OHMIGOD!" he screamed in something that sounded like agony.

"You okay, Sammy?" I asked.

"Just don't stop!" he ordered.

And I complied.

Let me tell you, doin' the bingo-bango-bongo with my Sammy-boy was like nothing I had ever experienced before or since. As I continued to thrust into that snug opening of his ass, he was sayin' things that beat even the language he had been using earlier that evening. His legs, wrapped around my waist, would nudge down to my ass any time I slowed down a bit, indicating that he wasn't ready for the pace to slow quite yet. I had reached down and started playin' with his chest, tryin' to tweak his nipples, but my intense concentration on the act made my efforts only half-assed (pardon the pun).

His cock stayed fairly limp during the events, and I remembered Bill saying that it wasn't because of a lack of interest, but more from a lack of blood (it all going to somewhere else). My hand strayed down and I gave it a casual stroke as I drove myself deeper and deeper within him, and before I knew it, I felt the oncoming signs of the train ready to come out of the station.

I clenched my eyes as he clenched his ass, and I came in a fit of wild abandon. My mouth had opened, but nothing was coming out, as I was just too into the events to be able to formulate even a scream. As soon as I felt the last bit of fluid echo out of me, I fell forward, bracing myself on my arms.

I took a deep breath, gave him a quick peck on the lips, and started to pull out of him.

He cracked his eyes a smidge as he gave a whimper of protest.

"Pointless to wear the rubber otherwise, kid," I told him. "I'll be right back." And as I finally pulled out, I gave a sigh as I felt the lack of tightness around my cock. I stood, rolled off the condom, and tossed it in the nearby trash can.

I then lay back down beside him, giving him a sweet kiss. "That was great, kid," I said.

He sighed, and whispered, "You're tellin' me?" He trailed his hand over my chest and grabbed me in a half-snuggle, saying, "So, you HAVE had a homosexual experience."

"And what about you, oh Mr. Shy Guy?" I had to ask. "You've been wanting this, wanting me?"

"So I'm bisexual," he said. "So sue me. You're one hot guy, Al."

"I thought you said you were wanting to experiment," I couldn't help but bring up to him.

"No," he said with a smile. "I said I always like to experiment. I am a scientist after all."

"Well, let me tell you what I learned during MY homosexual experience," I said with a leer, and I gently placed his hand back by his side. I gave him a slow kiss, letting my tongue become intimate with his mouth. "When I was goin' to Annapolis," I continued, and paused just long enough to move my head down to his chin, giving him little nibbles on his 5 o'clock shadow and neck, "I took a weekend of leave with this guy in my class – Bill Stewart." I paused in my story long enough to languor at his neck, making sure to give him a small but noticeable hickey.

"Bill and I had plans to go Chesapeake Beach and find a couple of chicks. Well, unfortunately a snowstorm stranded us in Harwood, in the middle of nowhere, and we wound up in our motel room with nowhere to go." I moved my lips down to his nipples and spent a few moments making him realize where I was going with this tale, flicking my tongue over the nubs and ever-so-gently biting him. He was now groaning, and I looked up briefly to see his eyes closed tight, his head starting to thrash back and forth. Oh, yeah – he liked it rough, all right.

"Well, both of us knew a weekend leave was not something that came often, least of all to lowly ensigns. And he . . . well, he admitted that he liked playin' with guys just as much as with girls." I trailed a batch of kisses down his chest and navel, pausing as I now faced his cock, standing smartly at attention. "As they say, one thing led to another, and I found myself being shown how to screw a man." I looked back up at him, seeing if he was even coherent, and smiled as I saw him trying to listen, trying not to succumb to my ministrations.

"And how to give a blowjob," I finished with a smile, and proceeded to do just that. I opened my mouth wide and went down, sucking and licking and pumping. As my hand went down to cup his balls, I could feel his body stiffen and I was given the pleasant surprise of having his come shoot into my mouth. Barely remembering what it tasted like (it was a long time ago), I decided to not swallow (especially since I had been safe with him), and released him to let the rest of it splatter his chest. I reached over to my trash can and spit out what had been in my mouth.

"Sheesh, kid, you're awfully quick on the trigger," I joked, then realized that it was probably helped by the fact that he had been fucked not five minutes ago. "You okay?"

"Man, if I wasn't so tired," he said, "I'd have to slug you for holding out on me. Why didn't you ever tell me that?"

"I'll let you know in the morning," I said quietly, not wanting to break the mood with what the rest of my tale of Bill ensued. I then reached over, grabbed the box of tissues I had there, and proceeded to help clean him up. After all was said and done, I gave him another sweet kiss, and crashed down beside him, not wanting to figure out the consequences of our actions just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2) "Hurts So Good", written by John Mellencamp and George Green. Off the _American Fools_ album, copyright 1982. 
> 
> (also - "Have you ever had a homosexual experience?" is a direct quote from Stephen Sondheim's _Company_


	5. The Obligatory Morning After Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was almost funny, watching his body go through the stages of 1) realizing I said something, 2) opening his eyes and recognizing that he wasn't in his house – or bed, and 3) trying to put 2 and 2 together.

"Oh, GOD, my head!" This, believe it or not, was coming from Sam. I had awoken next to his naked body not an hour ago, remembered EVERYTHING about last night (well, I did say I was used to that amount of alcohol intake), and had gone through 1,001 various thoughts of what to do and how to handle the situation. I had gently gotten up, proceeded to get dressed, and decided I'd make us breakfast. Included was a sure-fire hangover remedy (when you've drunk as much as I have in my life, you learn all sorts of great techniques with regards to the various results) that ranked right up there with my sandwich of the night before on the completely-disgusting-yet-you-almost-like-it scale.

And as I waited for him to wake up, I thought.

Thought about the rest of the tale of Bill; how after that night, we had decided to continue on the 'friends' front, realizing anything more would be too dangerous – especially in a Naval academy. How less than a month later, he was brought up on charges of being a homosexual. I, having just been found innocent of Marci Riker's murder and being nearly brought up on adultery charges with regards to Lisa, hadn't even been considered a possible connection to the case, and Bill was smart enough to realize he would just be putting two careers down the drain instead of one.

He didn't fight the charges (hard to, really, when you're found with a cock in your mouth) and was given a dishonorable discharge for sodomy, fraternization, and conduct unbecoming an officer. And while part of me wanted to come to his defense, wanted to help him with his case, part of me had been irrationally consumed with jealousy over the fact that he had been found with ANOTHER man, and not me. And in my youthful selfishness, I kept my mouth shut, and just watched as he went to jail for sodomy.

He had died not a year later, having been beaten to death by a group of inmates and the words, "Fags go to hell," spray painted on his cell walls. Funny how the evidence that he had been repeatedly anally raped never showed up in his murder case.

I peeked back into the room, seeing if Sam's reaction to his hangover had led him to get out of bed yet and discover his lack of clothing (but part of me seemed to remember him mentioning one time that he liked to sleep nude), not to mention the fact he was in my bed.

"Oh, CHRIST, my head," he groaned again, and I saw him on the bed, his hand on his head, and his eyes (fortunately or unfortunately, I wasn't sure) closed.

I decided it was time to face the music (among other clichés). "You okay in there, Sammy?" I asked.

It was almost funny, watching his body go through the stages of 1) realizing I said something, 2) opening his eyes and recognizing that he wasn't in his house – or bed, and 3) trying to put 2 and 2 together. "AL?" he cried, then winced and closed his eyes briefly against the pain.

"If you can handle it, I've got breakfast ready," I said, still staying at the door.

He slowly sat up, letting the cover slip down, and I habitually felt my eyes stray down to his chest (and gave my own wince as I realized he was suffering from MAJOR morning wood). He saw where my eyes were going and blushed as he realized 4) he wasn't wearing any clothes.

"Uh, Al?" he asked, grabbing the blanket and pulling it back to his chin. "What . . . what's going on?"

"Bad hangover?" I needlessly asked, not wanting to bring up anything about last night until I was sure what he did and didn't remember.

"You have no idea," he said, then winced. "Well, you probably do, now that I think about it."

"I've got my patented hangover cure sittin' in on the kitchen table next to breakfast," I said. Wondering what he remembered, I couldn't help but add, "Bacon and eggs?"

"Bacon?" he asked, his face showing that at least he remembered my sandwich of the prior night. "Okay," he sighed. "I don't feel like throwing up, so food would probably work. I'll . . . uh . . . I'll join you in a minute." And he blushed again, and I realized he was embarrassed at his nakedness.

"Sure," I said, not wanting to press the issue. "See you in a bit." And I walked into the kitchen and sat myself down.

I could hear his form shifting as he stood up and heard him give a small cry of pain – and I guessed he just tried bending over for his clothes that were still in a heap on the floor. I then had to hold back an ironic giggle as I heard another yelp as he must've sat down in order to dress.

But I was sober as a priest as I watched him waddle into the kitchen, and watched him slowly sink down into the chair.

"Everything okay?" I couldn't help but ask.

He twitched a bit and he looked up at me. "What all did we DO last night, Al?"

"What do you remember?" I shot back. Years in the future, whenever I remembered this story, I would have to laugh – realizing this was probably our first introduction to the Swiss-cheese memory effect.

He looked down at the plate of food, and said, "I remember trading stories as we walked back from the bar," he said. He then picked up a piece of bacon to eat, but took a sniff first, and quickly stood and ran into the restroom.

The sounds of retching reached me, and I realized that my food idea might not have been so good.

Water ran and then he came back in. "I definitely remember that sandwich you made me," he grimaced. "You have any fruit?" As I opened my mouth to respond, he quickly said, "Other than bananas, that is."

"Nope," I said. "Sorry – was going to go grocery shopping on payday." Which was Monday, a.k.a. tomorrow.

"Dang," he said, and I saw that 'Prudent Sam' was back in full swing. Which meant that if anything about last night was going to be mentioned, it was probably gonna have to come from me. "I guess breakfast is out, then," he sighed. "At least here."

He sat back in the chair and gave another twitch as his butt gave a definite reminder of last night.

"You want me to take you back to your place?" I asked, then cringed as I realized the double meaning that sentence now had for us.

"Nah," he said, and looked away. "I think I ought to get a cab. You're probably in no condition to drive."

This tiptoeing around the issue was startin' to get on my nerves. He wasn't sure how to act around me, because he wasn't quite sure what we did last night, and I felt I was losing my friend.

"Kid?" I asked, grabbing his hand across the table. He turned and looked. "About last night?" I continued, and noticed his eyes cloud over. How should I go about this? "I . . . I lied," I said, hitting on a possible solution.

"Lied? About what?" His eyes reflected the wheels turning in his head as he tried figuring out what I was doing.

"I have had a homosexual experience," I ended, figuring he said he remembered us trading stories, so he'd remember that aspect of the talk.

His eyes cleared like the sky after a rainstorm, and the edges of his mouth crooked up in a slight smile. "You have?"

I started retelling the tale of Bill, but caught myself remembering being with Sam, and so started changing the words and intonations of the tale and cutting out some aspects. I also decided to tell the rest as well, letting him realize that I may not be willing to do more than be friends with him. "We decided it was too dangerous to our careers, Sam," I finished, keeping my own eyes away from him. "The Navy was far too important to us, to me, for us to risk it on something that severe. And so we went back to being friends."

"Friends?" And I didn't have to look at him to see the heartbreak that rested on his face. I could hear it in his voice.

And I had to let him know what I had decided while he was asleep. "Yeah, friends. Maybe someday, when there's a place for open-mindedness, I may be willing to try it again. But not at this point in my life."

"Al?"

I finally looked at him, and closed my eyes briefly at the sight of tears in his. And before he could say something that would ruin it for both of us, I added, "Christ, kid. The Navy's one of the biggest supporters of PQL. You realize what they'd do to the project if they thought their liaison was queer?"

And his mouth closed with a snap as he realized it wasn't just my career on the line here. "Someday," he sighed, realizing I was also thinking of him and his dreams.


	6. Getting 'Somewhere'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next few weeks were tense as we tried getting back on the foothold of friendship.

The next few weeks were tense as we tried getting back on the foothold of friendship. A few casual remarks here and there led me to believe Sam did indeed remember that night of passion, but for the sake of PQL and my career, he never mentioned it outright.

My dating life became severely limited, though, as each time I tried to date, all I could think about was Sam. And I found myself getting jealous of any attention he gave others, especially women. Thankfully, my interest in him could be feasibly covered as working on the project, and we eventually got the first year of funding and the order to build it someplace 'safe'. Which led us to New Mexico, not far away from White Sands and Alamogordo.

Our first weekend in New Mexico, Sam somehow convinced me to go out with him to see a show being put on by a 'local' (the term being relative, considering NOWHERE was local) community theatre. When we got there, I almost left as I realized it was a musical: _West Side Story_. But since he'd driven, and I didn't really want to try walking the 50 or so miles back to the project base, I ended up staying. And I actually enjoyed it.

As we walked out to our car after, Sam – as usual, whenever he came across music – was singing various songs from the show. "I like to be in America **(3)** ", he sang.

"You seemed to like the show," I joked.

"Sondheim is a creative genius," he said.

"Who?"

"Stephen Sondheim?" he clarified. "He wrote the lyrics to it? As well as writing the music AND lyrics to _Company_ , _Sweeny Todd_ , and _A Little Night Music_?"

I remembered being subjected to several songs from these musicals (you can't believe how tired I got of "Send in the Clowns") during the initial building of PQL (thankfully, he recently switched over to _Man of La Mancha_ ), and said, "Oh, really?"

"Yeah. Although I'm not sure I like 'Maria'," he said. "If I had written them, I probably would've done something else."

And he started to sing, "Alberto: I just met a man named Alberto," he crooned with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "And suddenly that name will never be the same to me." He came in close to me, singing quietly, "Alberto: I just snogged a guy named Alberto. And suddenly I found how awful that sound can be. Alberto: say it loud and there's computers crashing. Say it soft and the checks are cashing – Alberto. I'll never stop saying Alberto."

"Cute, Sam," I said, needlessly laughing anyway at his odd parody. By now, we had gotten to the car and I waited for him to unlock the passenger side. He was still on my side, though, and he leaned against the car door next to me, letting the laughter run out.

"Wanna know what my favorite song was though?" he asked me as soon as he got control of his laughter.

"Sure," I said, waiting for more merriment. And I was surprised by his tenor voice softly singing in angst the song "Somewhere".

 **"There's a time for us, someday.  
** **There'll be a time for us:  
** **Time together and time to spare;  
** **Time to learn, time to care.  
** **Someday, somewhere.  
** **We'll find a new way of living  
** **We'll find there's a way of forgiving . . . somewhere.**

 **There's a place for us:  
** **A time and place for us  
** **Hold my hand and we're half way there  
** **Hold my hand and I'll take you there  
** **Somehow . . . Someday . . . Somewhere . . ." (1)**

And as he sung, I realized he was singing TO me, letting me see his wishes for me, for him, for US, hoping for that 'someday' I had promised him that morning: 'maybe someday, when there's a place for open-mindedness, I may be willing to try it again.'

"Kid?" I started to ask.

"Al?" he interrupted, turning to me, taking that half a step needed to enter my personal space. "We got the funding for PQL, we're nowhere near Washington, the military on site is virtually nonexistent . . ." and he paused to reach down and caress my cheek. "Is it someday yet?"

Jeez Louise. He had that 'lost puppy dog' look in his eyes, that one that made me crumble like a house of cards, that one I could never say 'no' to.

And I realized I didn't really want to. Despite the attempt to going back to 'just friends', I hadn't been able to stop thinking of that night, any more than he apparently had. I think I realized the depth of emotion I had for him during that time, and just because he was a guy shouldn't make a difference.

"Hold my hand, and I'll take you there," I quoted, not wanting to ruin the moment with my singing. He gave a quirk of a smile and did, indeed, take my hand. And I pulled him into a passionate kiss, right there in the parking lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) "Somewhere", from _West Side Story_. Lyrics by Stephen Sondheim. Copyright 1961.  
>  (3) "America", from _West Side Story_. Lyrics by Stephen Sondheim. Copyright 1961.


	7. Back to the Past ....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Well?" Sam asked, bringing me back to the . . . well, to the past.

"Well?" Sam asked, bringing me back to the . . . well, to the past. I gave myself a quick shake, remembering what had brought me back – Angelita, singing what, after that night, became 'our' song.

"Well?" I hesitated, not wanting to bring anything up. I mean, sure, after that night, we became lovers. Since we didn't make it obvious and since we were pretty secluded, the Navy didn't have much problem with my apparent interest in my male partner. But after he leaped, he forgot everything – even my name.

"Well?" he prodded again, and he motioned to Angelita, crashing my hopes that he was asking me about the song.

"She sings like an angel," I hesitantly said, wondering how much of the past, our past, he was remembering. At this point, I wasn't even sure which past he'd remember. Donna had popped up and popped out a couple of times, and I found myself with various versions of what my romantic escapades had been. "But that doesn't mean she is one," I finished, knowing it was probably just coincidence that she chose that song to sing.

"Well, whatever," he sighed, thinking I was too stubborn, "we have to find this woman a place to live." As I glanced at him, I could see the tiny tear in his left eye, daring to break free. Maybe he did remember, but wasn't sure where he stood now, in this timeline, when I've given him so many tales (so many heterosexual tales) of my bedroom exploits.

"Okay, sure," I said, wanting to get away from any mushiness. "But you have to get through tonight and get Max's medallion, and then tomorrow, we'll take care of the chubby cherub." And I glanced back at him one more time, and felt my own tears threaten to break as the slight look of recognition faded from his eyes.

As we turned back to the cab, Angelita had a slight smile on her face, and said, "I have to go check on something. I will be right back."

As we were waiting, Sam sat on the hood of the cab, looking out toward the road. "You know, last night after you left, she sang as well."

"Yeah?" I asked, not wanting to break the mood by saying anything derogatory about the 'angel'.

"Yeah. She started singing 'Someone to Watch Over Me'." I turned to him, wondering where this was going, when I saw the edges of his eyes reflecting baby tears yet to be released. "It was their song," he explained. "I asked her afterward how she knew that. She said that before she came here, she learned many things about me and my family." He turned back to me, and I could see his mind almost remembering. "I'll have to ask Lenny about 'Somewhere'," he continued. "I get the feeling that means something. Hearing her sing it, I felt this tremendous sense of . . . of love. It must've been an echo from Max."

Oh, Sammy . . . . I sighed, realizing not for the first time that whatever was controlling his leaping had obviously Swiss-cheesed his memories of me to make his job easier. "I wouldn't worry about it, kid," I said. "It was probably just a chance song."

"Hokay, I'm finished," the voice of Angelita sounded, and we broke from our gaze to watch her come toward us. "Did you two have a nice talk?" And she gave me a meaningful glance, and I wondered again whether she really knew what was going on here.


	8. Miracles?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A beep from the handlink had told me I was needed back at the project.

A beep from the handlink had told me I was needed back at the project, and so since we had a while before Sam got shot, I decided to leave him alone with . . . with HER to do Max's run.

However, Ziggy screwed up yet again, and I was just getting changed when I was informed of her time 'error' and how the shooting was actually going to take place earlier.

I popped back in to inform him of the change, and he just rolled his eyes as a result. But, by then, it was too late – we had traveled down the dead end (hey, how could I know that it didn't become a thruway until 1970-something?). Sam had given Angelita the money and told her to hide. When we realized the car was a false alarm, though, we didn't have much breathing space as the real robbery happened – the guy tellin' Sam to turn the engine off at gunpoint.

I could tell he was thinkin' of doing something heroic, so I quickly said, "You better do what he says, Sammy. He looks nervous." I caught the fact that I used his 'pet' name. Since he didn't remember me, I tried staying away from calling him "Sammy" – too many memories for me, and too much hurt when he didn't seem to acknowledge the difference.

Angelita then messed up everything by stepping in, insisting she couldn't get hurt. Didn't she know that was just going to make Sam act even more rashly? The already tense situation became worse, and I saw Sam's face cringe and his body start as the bullet exploded.

As soon as the robber got away, though, Sam went straight to her side to check her. I found myself worrying how Sam would take this. Yes, if she was dead, that was awful, but if he didn't help Max and Lenny, he wouldn't be able to leap. But she was laughing! She was alive! I had to keep Sam focused on the leap, however, and so I acted like it was nothing and came up with that stupid theory (even I couldn't see how it missed her!).

"You not know a miracle when you see one?" she asked me. But I could tell she knew WHY I was doing what I was doing (everything was for Sam), and so she let me get away with just a huff.

After that, we had to go back to the office and try and get an extension. And when that just resulted in Sam getting fired, I tried to figure out a way to solve it as we went back to the house to tell Lenny the bad news.


	9. Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lenny took it hard, as I knew he would.

Lenny took it hard, as I knew he would. The only time I saw a face looking that sad was the day Donna never showed up at that church. We waited around the cake, wondering what to do next, when we heard him leave the apartment.

Sam walked into the room, looking at the various items left out. "Look at this," he said to me. "Life insurance policy, bullets. What does he need bullets for?"

Like he had to ask?

Before I had a chance to say anything, though, our 'angel' said, "He's going to kill himself."

"No, no, no," I had to get in what was really going on. "I don't think so."

"Yes. I have handled this many times before," she said. Why did that not fill me with confidence? "He's going to do it so you can have the money," she continued to Sam.

"He's got to know that there's a suicide clause in insurance policies so Max wouldn't get a nickel," I countered.

"All right," Sam agreed. "Where did he go?" he asked me.

"Where'd he go?" I started looking it up on Ziggy, knowing Sam would want confirmation of my theory even before I voiced it.

A few seconds of Ziggy giving me trouble (damn bucket of bolts!), and Sam anxiously asked again, "C'mon, Al, where did he go?"

"I know where he is," I said, giving up on Ziggy.

"Where?"

"Yes," Angelita interrupted (again). "He is going to kill himself."

"No, NO!" I cried out. "He went to kill Frank, unless Frank gives up that medallion!"

"No, it's a suicide!" she countered. "Look, I have seen this before," she repeated. "They always do it by the waterfront so they can fall into the East River."

"No," I started to argue.

"That way, the gun gets lost in the water, and it looks like a murder."

"NO!"

"Si!"

"No!" I countered. I could see Sam torn, and I had to get him moving if he was going to stop Lenny from doing anything rash. "Sam, who are you going to listen to," I said, turning my own version of his 'lost puppy dog' look on him, "after all these years?"

I saw his face cloud at that, as if he was suddenly remembering something, but we had no time to talk, and all I could do was laugh as Sam chose my version.


	10. Conclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so we yet again saved the day.

And so we yet again saved the day. Tony's reaction to Angelita gave Sam the evidence he needed to help put Frank under investigation for the robbery. Lenny was going to jail, but not for long – and Max was able to get the cab company after all.

We went in search of Angelita, Sam's Don Quixote fixation wanting to make sure everything was tied in a neat little bow. We caught up to her as she was walking down an alley toward a stairway.

"Angelita. What are you doing? Where are you going?"

"It's my time to leave now," she said, sniffing as tears started to fall.

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked.

"Oh, yeah," I countered, not believing that she was STILL carrying this out. To me, her story was sounding a little TOO much like leaping for my tastes, and so I had to say SOMETHING to bring in a little reality. "Is this the part where nobody's gonna remember you were ever here?"

"Oh, well, not you," she said, the tears going full force by now, giving me a look that made me shiver deep in my bones. I suddenly could hear in my mind her singing our song again, and I briefly wondered again if that had been intentional. "But people in this time. You're going to forget about me." She sniffed again, and then said, "But I will always remember you, Sam."

My eyes rolled at her using his name, knowing that despite his 'photographic memory', he wouldn't remember that I had been using his name the entire leap and so she would've picked it up that way. He would definitely see this as another piece of evidence that she was an angel.

"Sam?" he asked. I just shook my head, having my feelings proven.

"Who do you think I was sent here to really look after?" she asked, and leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. After that, she pulled back, and gave me another look. And in that look, I suddenly knew without a doubt that it HAD been intentional that she had sung our song, that it was really ME she was helping, by reminding me of our past, of my promise for 'someday'.

"You're not really gonna let her go, are you?" I asked, realizing that in a way, that kiss she had given was her way of letting me give him a kiss – something that I had missed tremendously since our becoming holograms to each other.

"Who?" he asked, looking at me with that look I had seen each time he lost a bit of his memory.

"Who?" I questioned. "Angelita!"

"Huh?" he asked, then turned to the woman who was ready to ascend the stairs. She turned and waved. I saw Sam give a hesitant wave, then asked the question that nearly broke my heart: "Do I know her?"

"Huh? Do you know . . . do you know her? Quit foolin' around, Sam!" He couldn't have forgotten already, could he? Just when we were so close to having him remember everything?

"What?"

"You know what I'm talkin' about. I'm talkin' about Angelita . . . the angel," I finally admitted.

"The angel," he said skeptically. "Al, come on. There's no such thing as angels."

I just looked at him in disbelief, and realized he HAD to forget about me – in order to do his job. Even though he may not remember our past, we had a chance to build on our relationship in a way we hadn't before. And I suddenly felt the load of being his Observer lighten, as I realized that just my presence helped him in such a way that even if he never remembered our past, he would be more than willing to help rebuild a relationship in the future.

And as Sam leapt out, for once I was glad someone could see me other than Sam. For by Angelita's presence, I realized I had a future . . . and that future included Sam Beckett, one way or another.


End file.
